


Obsession

by been away for ages (beenawayforages)



Category: Jeffrey Dahmer - Fandom, One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Beating, Bottom Harry, Bruises, Codependency, Collars, Consensual Kink, Consensual Violence, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jeff is not a murderer in this, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masochism, Morning After, No Murder or Harm, Non-Famous Harry, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Harry, Ownership, Paranoid Jeff, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harry, Sub Harry, Subspace, Yes I Really Included Jeffrey Dahmer, top Jeff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenawayforages/pseuds/been%20away%20for%20ages
Summary: Alone.Jeffrey always preferred being alone. He keeps to his routines and drags himself through life, numb and aching - until an impossible boy makes his way into Jeff's life. A boy wanting to be kept.No matter how much he wants him, Jeff was meant to be alone and he was happier for it.Harry never liked being alone - but he knew everyone else was safer that way.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Jeffrey Dahmer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just a personal indulgence - I know this will not sit well with a lot of people, but I ended up getting really into this verse and I liked how the beginning turned out, so I'm continuing. Just to be clear, this is a very unhealthy relationship for a multitude of reasons, but all sexual activity, implied or direct, is consensual for both parties.

It was the shrill ringing of his alarm that woke Jeff up. His awareness came first to his burning eyes, his lids lined with tears as he cracked them open. They felt swollen in their sockets as he blindly reached to silence the alarm. His limbs felt weighted, as though his bones were made of iron, his arm hanging limp over the edge of the bed as he lay. His head was pounding, his body seemed to ache from head to toe, and there was a tightness in his chest that pressed on his lungs.

When Jeff opens his eyes again, it’s to the dark of his bedroom. The thick curtains hanging in the window to his right cast an eerie red haze across the room, the midday sun filtering through. He knows he only has two hours before he has to leave. His body protests and he groans loudly as he tries to stand, muscles too weak to hold. He sits back on the bed for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light and he searches for clothes he’s not worn more than once since they were last washed.

When he can stand, he slowly makes his way around his room, picking up a half empty bottle of whiskey and tossing the few empty beer cans aside on his way to the bathroom.

He finds no clean clothes, and settles for the stained t-shirt and old blue jeans he’s worn everyday for the last week and a half.

  
  


The liquor store is crowded when Jeff enters, heading straight for the back racks of cheap beer. A man standing in front of the brand he’s looking for hovers, taking nearly three minutes to pick a single can, and Jeff is again reminded why he cares so little for this shop. It’s always crowded in the evenings, the narrow aisles scattered with men chatting about their old scotch and hometown beer brands. The point of all of this - the socializing and mingling - is far beyond lost on him.

It takes several minutes of standing in line with his six pack before he reaches the counter. The man merely shakes his head, having seen Jeff every day for nearly a month now. He makes quick work of the transaction before leaving Jeff to the streets. 

The bell on the door rings crudely as he passes through. The noise lingers in his ears, the quiet voices of people he passes on the street a low hum in his mind. His body is working on autopilot, his daily routine etched into his muscle memory. He needn’t think of which streets to cross or when to walk, he just does. He does as he has done every day for the past month. And the month before that, and the month before _ that _. It is not until he hears a voice from across the street that he stops.

There is a small group of men lingering in front of the door of _ Club 219 _, a popular gay bar in the neighborhood. Had it been any other guys, any of the regulars, Jeff wouldn’t have stopped.

But the boy standing in the center of this group, laughing loudly and talking amongst his friends, this boy is new. From where Jeff stands, he can’t see much past the long, dark curls and tight black jeans. Even so, he’s sure he’s never seen this boy before, never heard that voice. 

In fact, Jeff is positive he’s never _ heard _of such a man, no club-goers have spoken about this long-haired boy with tattoos littering his skin. No, Jeff would most certainly have known about this boy.

There is a moment where the boy quiets, his hands reaching up to toss his hair a bit, and he spots Jeff across the street. It’s this single moment, when this boy is looking at him, that Jeff feels his chest tighten and he feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. The beer he’s holding is starting to slip in his hand, so he readjusts his grip and stumbles over his feet a bit as he starts to walk again. The boy reaches up, covering his mouth as he laughs again, before waving to Jeff.

Reaching his apartment, Jeff feels like his muscles are freezing up little by little. He feels stiff, his chest still hurts, and the beer weighed his arm down so much it feels numb. When he closes his eyes for a moment while he’s stood just outside his door, he sees those long curls, and when he opens them his eyes burn. 

It takes him exactly two minutes to unlock all three of the locks on his door.

Against his better judgement, he puts the beer in the fridge and is digging through the dresser in his bedroom, trying to find clothes that at least look cleaner than week old stains and ratty holes.

His clock shows that it’s nearly ten, and ordinarily he would be rushing to get ready so he could arrive at _ Club 219 _’s door at exactly ten fifteen. Now, though, he’s sat on his bed, a pair of somewhat clean black jeans on his legs, and a black short-sleeved button down shirt in hand. He’d cleaned up a bit before finding decent clothes in the bottom of his dresser. 

As he sat there, shirt in hand, it felt like his blood was moving at half speed, slow and lethargic - despite the way his heart was pounding. He didn’t really want to leave. He didn’t want to have to walk outside, face the world and talk to people _ again _, but he had to.

He had to see that boy.

The boy was no longer stood outside the club when Jeff arrived at ten thirty, but that didn’t stop him from walking in and quickly finding his seat at the bar. He looked around while he ordered a rum and coke, feeling a twist in his gut when he still didn’t find the enigmatic boy.

The bitter feeling washing over him didn’t last long. Jeff heard loud cat calls and cheers a few moments later, and upon looking to the stage area he saw the reason for the noise.

The boy was stood on the small stage, nothing but tight jeans on, and he was smiling at the people crowding in front of him. As the music changed, the boy began to move. 

_ So he’s a dancer _, Jeff thought.

Grabbing his drink, he slowly moved closer, avoiding the men crowded around the floor. He stood against a wall, careful to blend in so he couldn’t be seen as he watched in awe. 

Everything about the boy drew Jeff in. The glitter resting on his skin made him look as though he was carved from marble, pale and smooth on the surface. When he turns in Jeff’s direction, he notices that the boy _ is _wearing something besides the jeans - a thick leather collar sits on his slim neck. His bare feet glide lightly on the floor, and Jeff knows he shouldn’t be so enthralled by a young boy dancing to grimy club music, but he can’t take his eyes away.

He could easily be underage with the soft features and curved hips, but something about him says otherwise - there’s a hint of firmness under the curves, solid much like his jawline and the slip of his hip bones where they peek from the waistband of his jeans.

He realizes, a moment too late, that the boy recognizes him and has started to move towards the corner Jeff has found solace in.

His body seems to freeze, and though Jeff’s instinct is to turn and leave as quickly as possible, he can’t move.

The boy moves to get off the stage, some people in the small crowd hollering at him, tossing a few bills at him and shuffling off. His eyes are set on Jeff, though he stops to smile and grab a few bucks off the ground. Even when the boy is only a few steps away, Jeff’s brain is at a halt. Up close, he can see the glitter on the boys eyelids, his lips tinted and dark under the lights. Jeff stands a good four or five inches above the younger, and the long hair seems endless in the dim corner. When the boy is stood a foot away from Jeff, he can see the way his cheeks dimple as he smiles up at him, shameless and adoring in the way his eyes shine.

“Hi”, the boy’s voice is surprisingly deep, Jeff thinks as he takes in as much of the boy as he can in the dark, “I think I saw you earlier, didn’t I?”

There’s truly nothing coy about the boy as he speaks, there’s an earnest adoration in his gaze and it’s terrifying, what that look does to Jeff. His spine has tightened and his throat is dry as he looks the boy from head to toe, taking in the tattooed and glittered skin. 

“Yeah,” Jeff probably doesn’t speak loud enough to be heard over the music but the boy’s smile widens anyway, and he leans closer.

The smell of strawberries hits Jeff as the boy's hair falls to one side and it takes everything he has not to lean into him.

“My name’s Harry,” the boy steps closer to be heard, the sweet smell only getting stronger, “are you here alone…?”

“Jeff. I - yes, I’m alone.” Something about those words sting as they leave his lips. There’s something within him that almost feels like a blade, cutting a thin line down his esophagus as he speaks, and the intoxication he felt looking at Harry isn’t enough to numb the feeling.

The gleam in Harry’s eyes is suddenly unsettling to him.

There’s a reason Jeff doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like to talk, to socialize, to interact; it leaves him feeling stiff with a bitter taste in his mouth, the nightmares he has haunt him. This isn’t what he wants to be thinking about, however, when he’s stood in front of Harry like this. He doesn’t want to be plagued by his thoughts in front of this boy. 

“Well, I’d like to change that. If you’d like that.” Harry’s voice is far from calm, his adam’s apple bobs in his throat and his hands shake visibly as he tosses his hair off his shoulders. The boy is clearly nervous, but his face gives nothing away.

“I suppose I would. Like that, I mean.” He speaks low, loud enough to just hear over the music, and he makes no effort to move. The corner they’re stood in is starting to empty now, club goers dancing feet away from them but not close enough to hear the two.

Harry’s smile brightens when he hears Jeff, and despite his shaking, he places a warm hand on Jeff’s arm. 

“Do you want another drink, or to dance then, Jeff?” 

Goosebumps raise along the arm Harry’s touching as Jeff starts to become aware of just how humid the club air is. 

“I don’t - I don’t dance,” Harry’s smile doesn’t falter but his hand slips to Jeff’s wrist like he wants to let go, “but... I’d love to buy you a drink.” 

When Harry’s arm loops through Jeff’s it feels like his skin is burning where it meets the boy’s. He’s aware that he’s sweating lightly, his legs stumble a little as they move back to the bar, and his mind is blanking out. There’s nothing happening in his head, there’s nothing in his vision but Harry.

Jeff’s not looking anywhere but at the dimples carved into Harry’s cheek, and the curls brush the boy’s shoulders as he laughs. Whatever Jeff says is only in response to Harry’s soft questions. His body is on autopilot but somehow he feels like he’s on alert, as if Harry were to make too quick a move he might make a run for it. There’s something so _ soft _about Harry, but Jeff has never known softness in his life. 

The edges of his vision are blurred with alcohol and his limbs are warm and numb by the time Jeff makes his way to the entrance of the club. Harry’s hands both hold onto Jeff’s right hand, the jacket Jeff had worn now hanging on the boy’s bare shoulders.

He doesn’t remember much of the walk back to his apartment, only that Harry laughed the whole way. 

Jeff only lets go of the boy’s hand when he must unlock the door. Harry startles him, though only a little in his drunken haze, when he reaches up to run his fingers over the metal numbers screwed into the apartment door.

“Two thirteen. I like this number.” His speech is slurred, and Harry immediately turns to Jeff, reaching for the man’s hand when the door opens.

  
  


There’s only distant memory of the sex they had, when Jeff wakes the next morning. But more than that, there’s a ringing in his ears that burns through his mind.

A heaviness lingers in the air when Jeff starts to sit up in his bed, a hot weight laying over his side. Jeff registers a smell like strawberries tinged with rust. 

Harry’s collar is the only thing left on his body now, but the leather isn’t thick enough to cover the marks where Jeff’s fingers had pressed, hard and strong, into the boy’s neck. When Jeff can finally tear his eyes from Harry’s neck, it’s to trail the marks littered across his body. There are faint bite marks over shoulders and stomach, hickies and bruises across his stomach and chest. The bruises covering the sides of Harry’s hips bring an itch to the back of Jeff’s throat, and his body is climbing out of his bed and falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs before he even realizes he’s moving at all.

Harry stirs in the bed, the red haze of the curtains making the bruises and marks looked skewed and utterly unnerving as he moves, lips pouting as he leans over to peek at Jeff from the side of the bed.

“Jeff? What’s wrong?” As if Harry was blind in the red-tinted dark of the bedroom, or perhaps he really hadn’t seen the marks yet. Perhaps he remembered as much of what had happened as Jeff. 

Jeff could feel his mouth moving, questions he wanted to ask but didn’t know how. There was a resignation settling deep in his bones, a sort of sickening feeling trickling down from his throat to his belly. Jeff imagined he felt similarly to someone who had woken up beside a dead body, despite the fact that Harry was very much alive in the way that he peered over in concern. 

It wasn’t until the boy started to move off the bed to Jeff that he realized he needed to say something to him. He didn’t want to look at the marks of what he believed was pure anger on this boy. 

“Jeff… are you alright? Do you need help?” Harry was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, facing Jeff. His hands came up to gently touch his shoulders, wary of the way Jeff startled at his touch. There were bruises across the boy’s wrists that he hadn’t seen earlier, and the sight only pushes Jeff further. 

“You…” Jeff’s voice was hoarse and his throat burned as he spoke, “...what did I do to you?”

Harry’s eyes immediately drop to his torso, lifting one hand to brush the trails of marks before returning to gently cup the back of Jeff’s neck.

“Jeff, you...didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe you don’t remember, but it was consensual.” Harry’s words didn’t have time to register in Jeff’s mind, because the boy leaned down and kneeled in front of Jeff, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders for a moment before drawing back. 

“I beat you with your consent?” Harry’s small laugh had Jeff’s ears perking up, his fingers twitched at the sight of Harry’s own twisting together in his bare lap.

“No, are you kidding?” Giggles spilled from those deep red lips, bitten and raw from the night, “I’m sort of into pain, I guess. You were aggressive and I wanted it. Do you think you hurt me?”

The laughs stop and the smile dropped from the boy’s lips when Jeff’s dry eyes began to burn, nausea pressing against the back of his throat. Harry nearly jumps him, the way he rushes to wrap his arms around Jeff’s neck, and the warmth that envelops him calms the edges of his frayed nerves.

“Oh my god, Jeff, no. You didn’t hurt me, I promise.” There are lips at his ear when Jeff tries to turn his head, and a small hand is stroking his hair down. The warmth from Harry’s body feels suffocating and soothing at once and he can’t differentiate between minutes and hours like this. They’re sat there for a long while, Harry gently rocking side to side, and Jeff doesn’t fully realize what he’s doing when he wraps his arms around the other's’ waist, holding the boy to him with a tight grip.

“You’re covered in bruises,” Jeff’s voice wavers and he feels like there is a chunk of his whole self missing right now, like he’s lost some piece of him in the night that used to weigh heavy on his shoulders, “... It looks like I tried to kill you.” 

“You didn’t, Jeffrey.” Harry speaks softly by his ear, and moves so that he’s sitting across Jeff’s lap. The room has a strange air to it, like this. Harry doesn’t belong here, no one else belongs here but he hasn’t made to leave yet. The smell of strawberry lingers.

Even with the boy’s reassurances, Jeff feels some kind of dread, some heavy worry sitting in the pit of his stomach. He’s marked this boy’s skin with bruises and _ bite marks _, but he doesn’t remember a thing. He’d been drinking but not enough to forget that. He remembers the way the boy’s body curved, the way his voice sounded. 

Why doesn’t he remember putting his hands to his throat? Or gripping his hips so tightly the skin tinged nearly black?

Harry’s breath is calm and slow where he’s pressed to him like this, and Jeff doesn’t understand. He’s not understanding any of this, how this boy is okay with being beaten and bruised and bitten, and how he’s seemingly unconsciously caused a mess he can’t clean up. 

“I mean it. You really didn’t hurt me. You didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for.” He says these words but Jeff feel so unnerved by it all he can’t find it in himself to believe them.

Harry pulls away slowly, leaving Jeff to shiver when cold air blows over him, and brings his hands to Jeff’s cheeks, gently brushing his thumbs under the man’s eyes. 

The warmth has Jeff closing his eyes, leaning into the boy and trying to slow his breathing. The boy is so calm, his movements so fluid, but Jeff’s heart is racing and his palms are starting to sweat where they move to gently sit on Harry’s hips.

“Jeff, look at me.” Harry’s voice is too soft to command, but Jeff listens anyway. His eyes still sting when he looks up.

The boy’s green eyes look too light and nearly translucent in the red light of the room, but Jeff doesn’t look away from him. 

He waits for the other to speak again, but he doesn’t. They sit, nearly still, and Harry’s thumbs brush over his cheekbones while breathing deeply. Jeff’s eyes move to the boy’s chest, watching the way his body rises and rests with his breaths. He tries to breathe in time with him, tries to calm his pounding heart, but it’s not working. It’s hard to focus on calming breaths when he can see his violent marks scattered along the boy’s body. 

“I’m sorry…” His voice shakes the way it would if he were nearly in tears, but he hasn’t cried in a long time. His chest aches with something familiar rising above the dread in his stomach, and his eyes burn so badly. 

Harry hushes him, hands moving under his jaw to pull his face back up to look him in the eye again. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Harry gently leans forward, moving slow and careful to press his forehead to Jeff’s, “and if you apologize again, I might have to smack you.”

The still air that hung started to dissipate as Harry laughed, Jeff’s shoulders jerking at the boy’s movement in his lap, before he let some of the tension leave his muscles. His heart started to slow, as if Harry had broken some kind of unspoken barrier hanging between them. 

It startled Jeff, the feeling of lips touching his cheek, and his jaw, his forehead and his nose. Harry laid gentle kisses across the man’s face, soothing the nerves and tension keeping the grimace on his features.

There’s a fondness in the way Harry touches him, the way his lips are so gentle against his skin. It’s almost hesitant, like Harry’s afraid of scaring Jeff off if he moves too quickly, too much.

Maybe he’s just afraid of what Jeff will do to him now that he’s sober.

“-up, Jeff. We can get some breakfast down the street.” Harry’s voice slowly trickles in as Jeff’s focus is back in reality. 

“What?” Harry smiles, laying a final, firm kiss on Jeff’s forehead before leaning away. 

“Let’s go for breakfast. I’ll pay, okay?” Jeff tightens his grip on Harry’s hips for a moment, before nodding. He should still be asleep at ten in the morning. He wakes up at five or six in the evening and doesn’t sleep until nearly noon the next day. This day, however, is unlike any other Jeff has lived in the past twenty seven years. This day, he has woken up to a boy in his bed, bruised up and beaten. A bruised boy who wants to take him for breakfast.

“O-okay,” Jeff sighs heavily, trying to rid the weight sitting on his spine with the unease in his stomach, “Okay. We can go.” 

At this, Harry sits up straight, cheeks dimpling as he smiles. The red dyeing the room is unsettling in contrast to the peace of the moment, but Harry still climbs to his knees, and stands before Jeff.

As unashamed of his nakedness as Harry is, Jeff is not nearly so comfortable. He still has his boxers on but the idea of being seen is extremely unappealing to the man, especially in his sober mind.

While Harry stands, Jeff’s cheeks warm and his hands begin to feel clammy again. He breathes in and decides to shut his eyes as he stands himself up, hands hovering straight at his sides awkwardly.

“I’ll let you get dressed alone, if you’d like. Would you… happen to have a shirt I could borrow?” The smile never leaves Harry’s face, even as he lays a hand flat on Jeff’s chest, looking around the room to find his jeans.

“Yeah,” Jeff tries not to cringe as he wonders if any clothes in his apartment are actually clean, “but they’re probably dirty.” Harry’s hand only smooths down Jeff’s stomach before the boy smiles and walks to the bathroom door, a black t-shirt hanging off the knob. It’s probably two sizes too large for Harry, but he holds it up in front of him anyway.

“Would you mind if I wear this one?” Jeff only nods, a quiet ‘go ahead’ slipping from his lips as he watches the boy pick up his jeans and underwear from the floor, before stepping into the bathroom.

Jeff’s mind is in a frenzied sort of calm, thoughts racing of nothing but Harry. He doesn’t feel the fabric brush his skin as he tosses on a flannel shirt and buttons it, he doesn’t feel the denim of his jeans rub his legs as he tugs them on. His hands almost feel numb and he’s operating on autopilot again. His dissociative episodes were usually numb and dulled his mind, but this time his body feels warm and heavy while he thinks of the glow of Harry’s eyes in the red light, and the shine of leftover glitter stuck to his skin.

He stands there, in the middle of his bedroom, until Harry emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later. His long hair is tucked up in a messy bun, Jeff’s t-shirt hanging loosely on his shoulders, and his jeans tight on his legs. The leather collar is no longer on his neck but in his hand now, and this seems to trigger a painful tugging in his gut, an urge to take the collar from Harry’s hand and put it back on the boy himself.

“There’s a small diner down the street, they have great food. Is that okay?” Jeff nods, though he can feel his hands shaking. His routine is broken and he’s going to an unfamiliar diner with a boy he doesn’t know. A boy he beat and wants to lock away in a small box, to keep for himself. 

The curve of Harry’s lips, still red and raw, has Jeff’s throat tightening. 

“If you want, we can grab the food to go and come back here. You don’t seem to like people much, so I don’t mind.” Jeff genuinely fears the boy can read his mind for a single moment. His heart misses a beat, and then another, jumping into his throat and forcing a choked off cough from him.

“That would be… nice,” Jeff stutters and tenses, but when he looks back at Harry and sees the same small smile, he feels a bit silly for reacting so badly. He can’t help his anxiety, can’t help the strain his mind puts him through when he has to remember how to be human.

Harry slips his feet into a pair of Jeff’s sandals, a tad big for his own feet but they stay on well enough as he walks. Jeff makes quick work of tugging on his own shoes before lingering in the doorway of the bedroom. When Harry walks easily through the apartment, pausing to wait by the door, Jeff steps into the bathroom to brush his teeth lazily and pat his hair down enough to look less than ridiculous. He found his glasses by the sink, and slipped them on before following Harry to the door.

Jeff only locks two of the three locks on his door, not wanting to take so long on the way back in. Harry wraps Jeff’s left hand up in both of his own after the door is locked, and he plays with the man’s fingers the whole way to the diner.

Jeff’s hands are a little sweaty, he knows, but Harry just smiles and walks along, pulling him into the diner when they arrive. Jeff is unsure of what is happening, of what they’re doing here together, of where Harry is going with this. Men don’t stick around with Jeff. They often don’t ever stay in his apartment, and when they do - it’s usually _ Jeff’s _attachment that scares them away.

In all his years, he has wanted to be with many people, but when they have family and friends and others to return to, he has no choice but to let go. Jeff usually refuses to see the men again after they leave, as his attachment easily turns into obsession if given a second chance, so he treads wearily around familiar faces.

He has never encountered a man quite like Harry. 

He’s never been with someone who wanted to stay, even just for this long. Jeff had beaten this boy, and yet...here he is, dragging him to pick up breakfast before _ returning _to his apartment. 

He’s completely zoned out and barely heard Harry ask what he wanted to eat.

A menu is placed into his hands, Harry’s having freed his when they walked inside. Jeff picks a sweet pancake with fruit and some eggs, and Harry gets some sweeter french toast. Harry drags Jeff along to sit at the bar while they wait, his hands again picking up Jeff’s. 

“I like your hands.” His hands are clammy and numb. Jeff knows there’s nothing special or even particularly pleasant about them, but he still asks.

“Why?” Jeff’s hands are flipped, palms up, and Harry places his over them. Harry looks so small in comparison to Jeff, he’s only a few inches shorter but his feminine shape and thin frame make him look almost fragile. 

“They’re big, and strong,” Harry sighs softly when he tangles their fingers up, “and they’re warm.” Jeff’s heart stutters again when Harry lifts their joined hands to place tiny kisses where their fingers meet.

There’s an intimacy between the two that makes Jeff uncomfortable. Like an air of expectation hangs over them, and Jeff is just waiting to disappoint Harry enough to make him leave, like everyone else.

But he doesn’t. When their food arrives, neatly tucked in plastic trays and placed in a paper bag, Harry takes the bag, and reaches again for Jeff’s hand. 

The smile never really leaves his lips, and the longer Jeff watches him, the more he starts to wonder how much it will hurt when Harry does leave.

  
  


The apartment is silent besides the sound of the two eating their food. Harry has tucked himself into the corner of Jeff’s couch, eyes watching the window. 

Jeff is sitting on the opposite side, a small wooden tray sits between the two in the middle cushion, holding their food. Harry makes small jokes about people as they pass by, and Jeff smiles, pretending to care. He tries to listen to him, he really does. 

There’s a glint in his pale green eyes, the way they scan the ground outside of Jeff’s second story window is less humorous and more distracting. Something in the way he talks about people, these strangers passing by, is familiar to Jeff. It’s an unnerving familiarity that only reminds Jeff of the way his food leaves his stomach unsettled.

“It’s so strange.” Harry’s voice is quiet now, most of his food is gone and he doesn’t turn his eyes from the window as he speaks.

“What is?” He’s mostly unwilling to ask, as if his voice would shred the even silence over the room, but Harry only smiles softly. The boy reaches up to tug the band out of his curls, his hair falling in thick waves to the bottoms of his shoulder blades.

“The way other people just know how to interact. I feel like I _ must _have missed something growing up…” Harry tugs his hair here and there, pulling through knots and brushing his fingers through, “because I’ve never understood how people just...act and react. Like some kind of natural instinct. I just don’t have it.” 

There’s a troubled frown settling on Harry’s lips, when he speaks. 

While Harry hums quietly and returns to looking out at strangers, Jeff takes a moment to contemplate what the boy said.

Is there really something that instinctively leads humans to socialize? Perhaps if there is, Jeff is missing something, too. There’s nothing particularly inviting about “making friends”, nothing he likes less than calling his parents up to chat about things he doesn’t care for. Life would be a lot simpler if he understood the way other people work, Jeff thinks.

“I must have missed it, too.” He knows Harry probably couldn’t even hear him, and he’s not sure if he wants the boy to have heard at all when he realizes he’s talking to a virtual stranger. A stranger he’d bruised in his bed and is sitting with on his sofa.

“Hm. Maybe we’re both just not wired right.” Harry carelessly shrugs, as if despite the frown still on his lips, the boy just doesn’t mind. The effortless way he seems to float through every second is disorienting to Jeff, even in the stillness of his apartment.

Jeff can only watch the boy as he finishes off his food, the occasional soft groan leaving his throat in his enjoyment. His body just doesn’t feel right. It’s like his pieces have been pulled apart, rearranged, and put back together just a little bit wrong. He has this empty space inside now, and he thinks Harry would fit there quite nicely.

That is, until Jeff remembers. 

Everyone leaves.

Everyone has people to share themselves with, obligations to fulfill, jobs to show up at. They all leave Jeff for one reason or another, and Harry will too.

Maybe the boy will wait for him to leave him alone before slipping out the door and running down the sidewalk he’s currently staring out at. Maybe he’ll wait for Jeff to use the bathroom, or fall asleep, and he’ll call the police and report a rape or assault. Maybe he’ll stay the night again, and Jeff will wake up alone.

Either way, he knows this boy will ruin him. He’ll be torn the moment Harry slips out the door, a hint of strawberry left in his bedsheets.

A jolt runs through Jeff’s body at a sudden weight sitting on his leg, the daze breaking through his vision and Harry’s face coming into focus. He’s moved the tray to sit beside Jeff now, his hand resting on the man’s thigh as he leans in to rest his chin on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry whispers in the silence of the room.

Jeff pauses, hesitates with frustration, as if the boy was somehow supposed to be able to see the war inside his head. 

While he thinks, brows set and jaw tight, Harry runs his fingers through the hair at the base of the man’s neck slowly, barely letting his fingers trace down his skin before running through the thick gold again.

“Why don’t you hate me?” The words barely escape his throat. It’s not what he wanted to say, but it was better than his real thoughts.

Harry pulls back from where he was resting on Jeff’s shoulder, and his hand comes up to tuck his hair behind his ear while he watches the other man.

“Why would I hate you, Jeff?”

“I could have killed you. And you’re still here. You took me for breakfast and _ came back _ here.” He sighs, almost wanting to shove the boy away just to fight the urges racing through his veins. “I don’t get it.”

Harry slowly slides his hands down, reaching to grasp Jeff’s hand tightly between his own. Their fingers slide together, and Harry cradles Jeff’s shaking hand as if he were afraid to break him. 

“You’re special.” He says simply, the soft golden flecks in the emerald of his eyes more noticeable now in the light of the window beside them, and his breaths come slow and soft. “And I told you, you did nothing wrong. Nothing I didn’t ask for. I loved everything about last night, Jeffrey.” 

Jeff can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as he brings both hands up to rub over his face tiredly, breaking from Harry’s grip slowly. He’s confused, frustrated, and most of all, he’s exhausted. Trying so hard to restrain himself, to allow this boy to invade his meticulously planned mess of a life is wearing him down, and he doesn’t know how long he can last feigning normalcy.

“Talk to me.” Harry says, voice quiet and slow beside him. The warmth of his hand touching Jeff’s back startles him at first, but he starts to relax as the boy slides his arm around his shoulder.

“... No one’s ever stayed this long.” A lump builds in his throat as Jeff rubs harshly at his eyes before lowering his hands and leaning his elbows onto his knees to look at the floor, eyes avoiding Harry entirely. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Harry only hums, at first. The quiet is unsettling, but soon the warmth of his arm envelopes him, and Jeff feels Harry’s embrace against his side. The boy wraps both arms around his waist, his hair tickling Jeff’s neck when he tucks his head in and settles deeply into him with a sigh. 

“I feel right with you. Maybe that’s crazy, but it’s true. And I’ve never felt this with anyone else in my life. I don’t feel like I have to pretend to be human around you.”

  
  


Harry makes no move to leave. He casually lounges in Jeff’s apartment all day, taking up these empty spaces in the man’s life that Jeff didn’t even know were so barren in the first place. On Harry’s insistence, they watch several movies, open a few beers each, and Harry dances around Jeff’s kitchen while making pasta for the pair when the sun begins to set.

Jeff is lost in a bizarre haze all day, and he finds himself pinching his skin, leaving marks along his arms, as if it would wake him from this dream. 

Harry was so natural in his home, and at the same time, every second he remained only added to the dread building in Jeff’s gut. He watches the boy spin, some album playing on Jeff’s old record player, while he plates the food on the last two clean plates in the apartment. 

He says nothing when he carries the plates over to the couch where Jeff sits, but he’s humming along to the music until he reaches over to turn it down before he sits down close enough for Jeff to feel his heat. He pauses, though, once he’s sat down. He turns, hesitates, and then looks Jeff in the eye for a moment before speaking.

“Do you mind if I take off my pants? I hate wearing pants.” He asks almost bluntly, before his eyes widen and he begins to rush out his next words. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, I won’t. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect you in your own home.”

Jeff’s throat is tight when he swallows. 

This boy is sat in his home, body littered with bruises and the imprints of Jeff’s own teeth, and he’s bought them breakfast, and now he’s cooked them dinner. In Jeff’s apartment. And he’s still here, with seemingly no intention of leaving very soon. All day he has struggled to understand this situation, struggled to cope with being around another person for so, so long. He can’t remember the last time he spoke so much, or the last time anyone touched him like this.

Jeff doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s run through the extent of his ability to cope with this unfamiliar territory. So he does what he usually does when his brain starts to shut down.

He abruptly stands, nearly knocking his own plate to the floor where it was sat in his lap, and strides over to his fridge, digging out a half-empty bottle of vodka and with shaking hands, he struggles to get it open.

“Have I done something wrong?” 

Harry is standing behind him, looking lost and almost guilty. The look in the boy's eyes, even in the flickering fluorescent lights above the kitchenette, sends a wave of shame through Jeff.

Nothing happens. The pair stand in silence and it drags heavily. The look on Harry’s face starts to twist, slowly at first, until his chin is quivering just slightly, and his cheeks are darkening slowly. The tears don’t spill, but the wetness still pools in his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do. You should have left. Everyone leaves, and you’re still here.” Jeff rushes the words, tongue catching as he tries to set down the cold bottle clutched in his shaking hand. It’s hard, unnaturally so, and all he wants to do is down the whole thing and blackout in his bed, hoping that his memory of Harry will fade just like a dream.

The panic is evident in his voice, the way his body shifts like he’s trying to hide from Harry. He’s looking between his door and the record player, still spinning soft tunes faintly in the background.

“Do you… want me to leave?” Harry’s voice is unnaturally soft in the heavy air between them. It only quickens Jeff’s heart, knowing he’s doing this to the boy. He can’t turn to look at him, he can’t torture himself with the image of Harry’s tears spilling over and staining his cheeks.

“No.” He grits out, eyes darting over the floor, chest tight as the panic swells within him. 

“Then I’ll stay.” Harry says. Jeff felt a lump building in his throat, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, just hearing the boy’s voice. “As long as you’ll have me.”

Jeff almost wanted to laugh, but the sound came out more like a choked sob. He felt so out of control, like his body was trying to tear itself apart in front of this angel of a man.

“You don’t mean that.”

“What if I do?”

A beat of silence passes, the record that was playing skipping a few times before stopping altogether. 

“Forever is a long time.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Jeff’s eyes squeeze shut, blocking out whatever reaction Harry has, hoping to keep out whatever disgust washes over the boy’s delicate features.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” A wet laugh surprises Jeff, but the man stays firmly tensed in place, heart racing and eyes aching with the pressure of squeezing them shut. His mind is racing and somehow blank at the same time - every time he tries to focus on his breathing, on listening for Harry’s movements, it’s like he’s being pulled further down into a panicked static that he can’t escape from. 

Jeff doesn’t know when he lost feeling, when he collapsed, when he’d knocked the bottle down. It wasn’t until he was able to open his eyes again that he seemed to regain consciousness. His body was trembling, but what he felt first was the _ heat _.

Harry’s hands burned where he touched Jeff, the hairs on his neck stood on edge as the boy cradled his head and stroked his cheek, his delicate body wrapped around Jeff’s larger frame as he held the man. Everything was silent. Everything was still, and Jeff was numb. All he could feel was the warmth radiating from this absolute, impossible dream of a boy, who was holding him in his own bruised, shaking arms. He could see the vodka soaking the leg of his pants, spilled amongst the broken glass of the bottle that fell, but he couldn’t feel it.

Never in his life had Jeff felt so out of control. Never had he felt so afraid.

  
  
  
  



End file.
